


Nothing ventured, nothing gained

by TenkeyLess



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Again, Angst, Consentacles to come, Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Mindsweeping, Rated E for Eventual Smut, Referenced past Lahabrea/Thancred, Spiritual Violence, Tags to be updated with second chapter, Thancred gets tangled up with an Ascian, referenced possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenkeyLess/pseuds/TenkeyLess
Summary: If Thancred had gone without knowing another Ascian for the rest of his life, he would have been content. Unfortunately for him, Emet-Selch has never been satisfied with only half-truths. After hearing Thancred's professed amnesia of his time under Lahabrea's thumb, Emet-Selch seeks out the gunbreaker for the full truth.Matters escalate.(Shamefully, intimately so).
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Thancred Waters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52
Collections: August Novel Pairing Challenge 2020





	Nothing ventured, nothing gained

Soft bootsteps herald an arrival to the quiet alley Thancred watches the Markets from. Glancing up, he spies the unmistakable attire of the only Garlean on the First. Emet-Selch. The filtered light of the Crystarium lends his skin an eerie blue cast. Thancred stiffens instinctively at the Ascian's approach, pulse kicking up a notch, and forces himself to relax. Muscle by rigid muscle, he relents and greets the man with reluctant civility.

"...Emet-Selch. Do your grand schemes involve little traveled alleyways now? Or are you simply that bored with the proceedings as we prepare to depart for Amh Araeng."

Slouching to a stop, Emet-Selch slowly drags his gaze over the stout gunbreaker. He must like what he sees, chuckling darkly as both hands raise in a luxuriant shrug.

"So suspicious. And after all the effort I've gone to assuaging your delicate sensibilities. I came to see you, if you must know."

Thancred straightens, unease prickling down his spine at the Ascian's straightforward admission. Reflexively he reaches for aether, to enhance his perception, and catches only air. An empty response, and not the first time. Irritated at both his failed call, his broken reach, and the Ascian whose kind stands responsible for ruining it and so much more, Thancred lets his brow furrow in open displeasure.

"For what part and purpose."

"Why, to inquire more closely after your memories. I had thought Lahabrea handled the souls of his vessels with more care. Certainly well enough to not consume their memories of possession wholesale." Thancred stiffens. Dipping around to flank the man, Emet-Selch leans in to whisper.

"Do you _really_ not remember your time hosting an Ascian?"

Spinning to face him, weapon leaping to hand, Thancred threatens Emet-Selch with the business end of his gunblade. With the weapon's freshly-sharpened tip beneath his chin, Emet-Selch raises his gloved hands in an affectation of surrender, an ill-concealed smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Have a care, _Ascian_. The warrior is not the only one amongst us with the means to undo your kind."

Glaring at the taller man, Thancred's steely eyes meet amused gold.

"Touched a nerve, have I? Allow me to set things right." His right hand _snaps_ and aetheric chains spring from the shadows to ensnare the gunbreaker. His weapon clatters to the ground, useless, as the bindings coil tight around suddenly numb limbs. Links hard as iron dig painfully into his flesh, thoroughly restraining him.

"Now, let us see if any of Lahabrea remains."

Emet-Selch's hands lower from their mocking surrender and he approaches his captive with hunger glittering in those ancient, molten eyes. Fear strikes deep into the heart of the gunbreaker at the Ascian's approach, desperation lending him its volatile strength as he _writhes_.

He let down his guard around an Ascian.

Again.

Gritting his teeth, Thancred thrashes like an animal in a trap, cursing Emet-Selch and Lahabrea alike with every onze of Limsan dockworker ingenuity. Yet his prodigious dexterity and silver tongue grant him no relief from the chains or Emet-Selch's visage looming before him.

<<Are you there, Lahabrea?>>

Mournful chimes from a language long dead fall on deaf ears as Thancred twists and turns, frantic to win his freedom. Emet-Selch seizes his ear, twisting until the man cries out and stills lest he damage himself irreparably. Again.

<<I said, are you there Speaker?>>

His words, inhuman sounds falling from mortal lips calls a flush to Thancred's cheeks wholly separate from the strain of exertion. Heat builds at his core, a sickening familiarity that he denies with every fiber of his being. Something cool and sweetly comforting slides over his skin, and, in a moment of panicked realization, he identifies it as Emet-Selch's cloying aether. The dense fog of it all but subsumes him, prying, prodding, at the limits of this soulform he's had to assume on the First. A gloved hand cups his chin, releasing the painful hold on his ear, and forces his gaze to meet glittering gold.

<<Lahabrea, Speaker, if _any_ of you remains within this vessel come forth. We have need of you.>>

Emet-Selch's eyes burn into him, glowing orbs that sear as they search him from head to toe. Thancred cannot help his flinch, shameful, as that gaze scrapes his soul itself.

A long moment passes between them.

And then the Ascian sighs.

With another _snap_ the chains dissolve into black mist and Thancred collapses to the welcoming ground.

"T'would appear he left nothing. A pity."

Coughing, Thancred props himself up on an elbow to glare hatred at the Ascian.

"I could have told you as much. Nidhogg's eyes consumed Lahabrea whole."

Stretching before him, arms to the sky, the Ascian gives every impression that this is an ordinary conversation-as though threatening his allies and summoning their possessors is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, or might as well be. The stark reminder that his morals are nowhere near normal is chilling.

"You cannot blame me for trying." He shrugs, utterly unaffected. "After all, I can _see_ the impression he left on you. The dips and whorls on your soul where he grasped you tight."

Thancred stills. That those wounds are yet visible...

Tapping his chin in thought, Emet-Selch turns to crouch before the contemplative gunbreaker.

"Though I do believe I owe you some manner of reparation for that crude inspection of mine." His gloved finger comes to rest beneath Thancred's chin, tilting it up until his neck strains at the angle. Numbed limbs fail to respond to his call, to shove the Ascian's hand away as he wishes. "From your response to my aether, I suspect I can offer you something you have been craving."

"Sod off." Thancred growls.

"Deny it all you like, the heat of interest still quickened your little mortal heart all the same."

This time Thancred manages to swipe at the man, his hand a crude claw. To his surprise, it connects, dully thudding into the Ascian's cheek and snapping his head to the side. Emet-Selch stumbles to the ground, his crouch's balance destroyed.

Gasping a startled laugh, Thancred pulls himself to a sitting position, watching the Ascian rub his cheek in bemusement. It is a small thing, but seeing the Emperor of Garlemald laid low with a slap sparks something within Thancred. Something best doused and ignored, like the rest of his troubles. He sighs.

"As though I would accept _any_ succor your kind would have to offer." Again.

Emet-Selch sits up to match him, white glove on reddened cheek.

"’Tis hardly my fault that you reacted so strongly. I merely offer repayment. A balancing of the scales. Surely you are familiar with such a concept?"

"...And why would I trust an _Ascian's_ word to behave."

Sighing heavily, Emet-Selch clambers to his feet, dusting his skirts.

"So much for offering favors. Far be it from me to force your hand, you are plainly a man accustomed to denial. I shall recuse myself. _Do_ try to be less boring in Amh Araeng?"

Swaggering away, he waves in that peculiar manner of his as the remainder of his aether sloughs free of Thancred. It slithers back to the Ascian's shadow, tendrils claiming one last shiver from the gunbreaker on their departure.

"Wait--!"

Quite to Thancred's surprise, the Ascian pauses, throwing an inscrutable look over his shoulder. And, with greater betrayal, the gunbreaker stares at his hand outflung to accost him. Slowly he draws it back, flexing it into a fist that trembles with the force of his suppressed desire. He speaks to it as though his fist is his sole audience, blatantly ignoring the Ascian waiting at the head of the alley.

"I hesitate to even ask, but..." His words break off into a frustrated growl. "Is it within your power to heal my condition. To erase the marks _he_ left?"

Rocking back on his heels, Emet-Selch slowly turns to face the gunbreaker. Golden eyes survey him from head to toe, in a different light this time. Gritting his teeth, an inferno of ignominy grappling with the sobering chance to be _whole_ again, Thancred bears it. And, if he is honest, his gut warms with the knowledge of what he's inviting as well. An Ascian shares and shapes with the elixir of their soul in very particular ways, after all. Methods Thancred is shamefully, intimately acquainted with.

"Now _that_ is an interesting request."

Thancred averts his face from the Ascian's prying eyes, strolling over to reclaim and stow his gunblade. He hears Emet-Selch's footsteps approach and pause at his side.

"I would not even _think_ to entertain the idea of pleasure at one of your kind's hands, not after all you've done. But for the mending of my soul..."

Emet-Selch hums thoughtfully.

"You would compromise a great many things, yes? Though I rather think such an arduous task would rightly have _you_ owing _me_."

"Grant me however much your paltry favor is worth, then!" Thancred turns to face Emet-Selch, nearly flush, chest to chest as he glares upwards at the amused Ascian. Irritation darkens the gunbreaker's brow, coarsening his voice into something ringing with remembered pain. To reach for the aether flowing in all things-to grasp for the magic familiar as breathing, and to receive not even an echo of response. Emet-Selch meets his glare without flinching, pondering the gunbreaker as Urianger might a particularly interesting scroll.

"In your current form as soul alone, anything I do to your aether will affect your 'body' most keenly, and anything affecting your 'body' your aether will feel in turn. Are you prepared for that?" His lilting voice reveals a hint of derision, an edge of challenge. So sure that Thancred's conviction will waver. "You are asking me to delve into the very depths of your soul, to get at the fingerprints Lahabrea left behind."

Thancred clenches his fist tight lest its trembling betray him. Perverse desire lances straight to his groin, all too aware of what Emet-Selch alludes to. His body shivers in remembered pleasure, the ecstasy of his soul overfull, unforgettable. He flinches as a soft glove cups his chin, bringing his wandering gaze back to the Ascian at hand rather than the one that haunts his memories.

"Such turmoil you bear." Emet-Selch's hushed voice only serves to stoke the anticipation speeding his pulse, shallowing his breath. "As I said before, I'll not force you. I've no interest in sharing pleasure with the unwilling, and it is _pleasure_ you will derive from this."

Thancred swallows, his hesitation locking him in place. He cannot form the words to invite or deny, but his heart's rapid beat makes his body's reply clear. But he is more than this. More than crystalized longing for darkness most sweet. More than the vessel Lahabrea wore to further his goals. To give voice to the desire to be _held_ by ancient hands once again would be unconscionable. His fingers dig into his palms in visceral restraint.

With a sigh, Emet-Selch releases the Scion. The _snap_ of his gloves puts Thancred on edge, his imagination conjuring horrors at the Ascian's hands. Yet the Garlean merely folds something small into his grasp.

"Should you find yourself decided, wear this and I shall come to you." Curling Thancred's fingers around the trinket, Emet-Selch whispers instruction in a gentle voice that belies the cruel smirk gracing his lips.

_"Wear this and partake of my power…"_

Thancred shudders, the sibilant hiss of one long gone echoing in his ears. As Emet-Selch turns to leave, a finality in his step, Thancred barks the question burning in his gut.

"So generous for one of your ilk. Why _are_ you entertaining this, Emet-Selch? Surely mortal pleasures aren't of any genuine interest to you, and I cannot imagine what passes for your conscience would compel you to help me-crude inspection or no."

Slouching and sighing as though the world conspires to tire him, Emet-Selch casts a glance back at Thancred. The gunbreaker stands firm, arms crossed and mind racing with a flurry of possibilities.

"You mean to ask what I derive from this? Aside from watching you stew after all that vitriol over my ivory standard?"

Thancred nods, fingers twitching with the urge to _act_.

"For all that you play at allies, 'tis apparent you're scheming something to make an offer of this nature."

Emet-Selch's smirk takes on a devious cast, his eyes crinkling in unsettling mirth.

"So _suspicious_."

An ethereal finger drags up Thancred's spine and he jumps at the contact, hand snapping to his gunblade's hilt to defend himself. He glares at the Ascian and though Emet-Selch stands before him, Thancred feels spectral lips at his ear-that sardonic voice softened to a threatening croon.

"No grand schemes, but I _will_ confess a curiosity as to your soul and how it might taste-given such remainders of my compeers laced within it."

Ghostly touch strokes his nape and is gone the moment he reaches for it. Thancred growls at the Ascian's teasing, his reaction only feeding the Ascian’s growing smirk.

"But you have an amaro to catch. Go on, far be it from me to keep you from your Lightwarden hunt."

Warping void swallows the Ascian, done playing for the moment, and Thancred bites back a howl of frustration. His heart pounds from the tension. As prepared as he is, _as he always must be_ , it seems there's naught to be done to stymie the ancient being-naught at least that does not also deny his chance at absolving his condition. Slowly he forces his fingers to forget their too-tight grip, to release the hilt of his blade. Slowly, he stills the drumming of his heart. _If_ he is to proceed with this mad plan, it will be on his terms. Thinking with his prick will do him ill, here, and he'll not submit to an Ascian's attention on such empty motivation.

Not again.

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for Novel Pairing month! Emet-Selch/Thancred is such a fun pairing to think about - Thancred ever so wary (justifiably, with his past), and Emet-Selch with his _vested interest_ in the Scions while they travel about Norvrandt with WoL. This is my first time writing Thancred, I hope to do him justice :)
> 
> Chapter 2 is largely smut, with some feels. Expect several updated tags for explicit acts o/
> 
> Thanks as always to the [Bookclub discord](https://discord.gg/PvbG45u) for their infectious enthusiasm <3  
> If you're interested in chatting with FFXIV fic readers and writers alike, feel free to click the discord link and join in!


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